So many people came that we had to extend the viewing for an extra hour. We stood for four hours, shaking hands and thanking people for coming. All the time I felt like I may as well have a scarlet A, or maybe a scarlet M, on my chest. Was my desire for Ren that obvious? Did they really think I'd kill to get him? Did they really believe his taste in women was that bad?
By the time the viewing was over and we were safely locked in our castle again, I'd lost my appetite. I collapsed on the bed in our room. Ren brought up a tray and sat beside me.
"We should go back to London," I said. "Manage the castle from there." I looked up into his deep blue eyes. "It's too much. All the gossip. I thought I could take the scandal of marrying Manly. I even enjoyed it. But this? How do you stand it?" I grabbed his hand. "Ren, how do we prove it? How do we prove we're innocent?"
"We don't, Bliss." His voice was tender. "We just live our lives and don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."
It was tradition for the people of the village and the duke's staff, peers, family, and friends to line the drive from the castle to the village. It had rained earlier in the day, but just in time, the sun came out. The air was crisp, fresh, and clear, a perfect fall day. Manly would have been pleased about the weather and the noble spectacle of the people here to honor him, though I supposed he'd seen it before with his father and grandfather. To me, it was supremely touching.
The mourners bowed their heads as the hearse carrying the late duke took him on his final journey from the castle to the chapel and then his resting place. You could see the ripple down the line, almost like the wave in a football stadium. And it may only have been my impression, but I was touched—Manly had been loved. The turnout was huge.
The immediate family, which in this case was just Ren and me, rode in a car behind the hearse. Ren wore a new black suit. I was dressed in my beautiful black dress and an outrageous black hat. I still wasn't sure why the Brits had such an affection for hats, but I ran with it to fit in. Because of the Dukes of Axton and Hardly's advanced age and health, they rode in a car behind us. My mom and Ren's mom and stepdad had elected to drive in from London and meet us at the funeral. I was as nervous about Ren's parents as I was about the funeral itself. The procession was exceedingly slow and reverent.
I rode, dry-eyed, looking straight ahead, clutching Ren's hand tightly in silence, trying not to see the curious stares and glares of censure and suspicion. This was the opposite of the Georgette Heyer wicked-uncle trope. This was the wicked nephew. Had the young duke killed his uncle for the title and estate? I was alone with my thoughts, and they became less than pretty. How could this many people love Manly and suspect Ren of treachery?
At the chapel, we got out of the car, Ren with his head held high, me remembering to keep my chin up. Chin up. How many times had Mom told me that?
We waited for the hearse to be opened. Ren and five other pallbearers carried Manly's casket inside and set it on a stand in front of the altar. I walked arm in arm with the two old dukes to the front pew of the church and sat beside them, leaving room for Ren. The dukes were only honorary pallbearers. I was sure they wished they were strong enough to be more. But there had to be satisfaction that their dear friend had lived to such an age that none of them were young enough for the job now.
The church filled behind us. I could feel the stares of the congregation, Mom, and Ren's parents at my back. Chin up.
Ren slid in next to me and took my hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Really, except for my tight dress and outrageous hat, which were both nods to Manly, Ren and I were the picture of propriety and mourning. Remembering the condemnation of Ren and his dry eyes at Will's funeral, I listened to the service, dabbing my eyes so everyone could see. The tears were real. The exaggeration was so that everyone saw them.
Ren, despite my warning, remained as tear-free as he reportedly had been at his brother's funeral. He refused to air his grief in public. And he didn't see the need to act like the death of a man who was one hundred years old was a tragedy. I couldn't convince him otherwise. The service was as beautiful as the day, a touching send-off for Manly. Manly had planned it well. The old conniver knew how to manipulate an audience.
When the service was over, the reverend led the way to the cemetery. Ren and the other pallbearers carried the heavy casket behind him. The family, close friends, and noted peers followed behind. As the gravediggers promised, they'd dug a tidy grave surrounded with green cloth for Manly.
Ren and the others set Manly's coffin on a casket-lowering device platform above the grave. Ren joined me as the reverend said a prayer. The casket was lowered. Ren threw the first handful of dirt into the grave. I shed a tear, dabbed my eyes, sniffed, tossed a bouquet of Michaelmas daisies onto it, and walked away on Ren's arm, giving one last look at Manly over my shoulder. We rode back to the castle in the lead car to endure the dinner reception afterward.
At the castle, everything was a bustle of activity. We'd decided to serve the meal buffet-style in the great room, which was large enough for several hundred guests. For the second day in a row, Ren and I stood in the entry and greeted and received guests, accepting words of condolence, both sincere and snide.
Mom was first in line. "How are you holding up, darling?" She studied Ren with a sly smile. Sometimes I thought Mom would applaud Ren if he actually had killed Manly. She was appalled by murder, but she applauded initiative, ambition, and drive. She leaned in and whispered, "I hope Ren's keeping you busy. He appears very protective of you. Maybe you won't be as eager to leave him as I thought at the end of your year. Your decision. It's your life."
Since when? I wanted to ask. My life had always been hers, as far as she was concerned.
She kissed my cheek and prepared to move on.
Next to me, Ren pulled a woman into a hug. "Mom! Bendi!"
"Ren's parents." I caught my mom's arm, almost desperate for some maternal comfort and shielding. Which was ridiculous. Mom had never been a comforter. But I suddenly had the childish urge to hide behind her skirts and let her fight the battle. She was brilliant at fighting battles.
Mom understood, and turned at the same time I did to meet them. Ren's mom was tall and striking, with the same blue eyes and dark hair that had been lightened, probably to hide any gray. She was a beautiful, stylish middle-aged woman. In her prime, she must have been as breathtaking as Ren was now. Ren was, quite obviously, the male version of his mother. No wonder people referred to him as beautiful. He had the same classic cheekbones and perfect facial proportions.
Next to her, Ren's stepdad would have seemed plain no matter how good-looking he was. Startlingly, though, he was quite average. Just a regular-looking, short, stocky middle-aged man who was going to paunch. He was a few inches shorter than his wife in heels, which didn't seem to bother either of them. Without the shoes, I guessed they might be roughly the same height. His smile was warm and genuine. "And this must be Ren's Bliss." He took my hands and kissed my cheek.
Ren took my arm. "Mom, Bendi, this is indeed my Bliss. Bliss, my parents, Shaw and Bendi Andrews."
"Bendi, let me have a turn to meet my daughter-in-law." Ren's mom pulled me into a warm and affectionate American hug, the kind without any stiffness or reserve. "We'll talk and get to know each other later."
I introduced them to my mom. After just a few more polite bits of small talk, the three of them walked off to the banquet together. I watched them go, willing Mom to behave herself. Oh, she'd be charming, no doubt. But what would she say to them about me?
The buffet was casual. People filled their plates and milled around, sharing their memories of Manly and generally catching up, finding a seat at any open spot that pleased them. As was typical at an after-funeral reception, people's grief soon turned to smiles and laughter as they remembered Manly with fondness and caught up with friends, neighbors, and family. I was happy to see it. Manly had wanted a celebration, a beautiful wake, not a grief-fest.
Ren and I mingled, eventually getting s
eparated as I, as the hostess, was called away to deal with the minor issues associated with any gathering of any size and questions the caterer had. I was good at it, and this would soon be part of my job.
As I returned to the banquet hall, Ren's mom caught me in the hall outside. I wondered if she'd been lying in wait for me. She obviously intended to make good on her promise to talk. Her expression was warm and serene, but I had to grant that she might simply be a good actress.
"You must be positively shattered, Bliss. You've been running since we got here. And yet you look beautiful and calm, taking it all in stride. The reception is going so smoothly. I know that's not Ren's doing."
"It's Manly's," I said. "He planned everything beforehand. All I had to do was monitor things. And thank you. It is going rather well."
She took my arm. "Even so, I'm guessing you could use a moment to catch your breath. Get off your feet for a sec. Let Ren handle things for a bit. He's perfectly capable." She flagged a waiter. "Would you make the duchess a plate of food and bring it to the duke's study?"
The waiter nodded and hurried off.
"You need something to eat before you get shaky," Ren's mom said. "You don't want your blood sugar dropping. You must take care of yourself too, Bliss."
We walked side by side to Manly's office. She seemed familiar with the castle. She knew her way. The waiter met us there with a hefty plate piled high and a glass of wine. We closed the door and settled in by the window. She seemed friendly, but why had Ren's mom maneuvered me into a private conversation?
"I'm sorry to meet you under these sad circumstances." I caught myself in the irony of that statement. "But this situation is so bizarre—if not for Manly's death, we never would have met, would we?"
"You're so right," Shaw said with a touch of humor.
"This is awkward." I broke off a bite of roll. "I've never been particularly good at meeting the parents. To be honest, I don't have much experience. I don't even know what to call you."
"Shaw is fine," she said. "Or Mom. Whatever you're comfortable with. Ren has always called his stepdad Bendi."
"That's an unusual name." The roll tasted so good that I broke off another bite and added a piece of cheese.
"Not half as unusual as his full name, Bendigeidfran." She grinned. "Try saying that three times fast. It's Welsh. You can see why he goes by Bendi. Shaw is a nickname, too. My real name is Sharon, but it's so common. I like Shaw better."
"Shaw and Bendi, then," I said.
"Back to your point—this is horribly awkward. Manly, that old manipulator, was absolutely determined to get Ren back to this place for his own selfish reasons, come hell or high water. It looks like hell won. Manly couldn't stand to think of the title going extinct or the estate leaving family hands."
Shaw glanced around. "I guess I can understand it. It's a magnificent place filled with history. If my son wasn't a pawn in this game Manly played, I might even appreciate it. I can certainly see why you want it. You have the money to fix it up and care for it, which makes it much less of an albatross. The business sense as well, I hear. Ren was bragging about you."
Ren bragging about me? I was surprised and pleased. I almost blushed.
"Ren has the architectural skills. If you work together, the two of you should be wildly successful."
"I hope so," I said, heart thumping. I couldn't believe how nervous I suddenly was. "I feel like I need to apologize."
She lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow.
"For trapping your son into marriage—"
She laughed, a joyous female version of Ren's. "Oh, my dear, no one could trap Ren into marriage if he didn't want to go. Not even Manly or you."
Her eyes twinkled. She had Ren's enigmatic personality and his sense of humor. "I'm grateful, in an odd way. You 'trapping' Ren into marriage and trying for a baby duke is about the only way I'm going to get a grandchild. Ever since Zoe's death, Ren has been haunted and afraid of commitment. I have my theories as to why."
My mouth nearly fell open mid-chew.
"I like to look on the bright side," Shaw said. "If you treat my son well, you and I will get along famously. But don't hurt my boy. Contrary to his unsavory reputation, Ren has always been a sweet, adorable boy. Thoughtful. Caring. Will and Zoe ruined him. Will was always…difficult."
Ren, thoughtful and caring? I was relieved to see another person saw those qualities in him.
"Please, eat."
I took a bite of meat. "Please. Keep talking. I'd like to hear your theory."
She smiled slyly. "I thought you would. After watching you watch Ren at the funeral, I told Bendi I had to talk to you and warn you what you're up against. If my eyes and intuition haven't deceived me, I want you to succeed."
I nodded, glad to have an ally in Ren's mom, even a somewhat reluctant one.
"To understand Ren, you need to understand his upbringing and place in the family. Birth order shapes all, but here in titled families, the damage it can do is ridiculous. Will, as you know, was my late husband's child with his first wife, his ex-wife. Will was seven years older, entitled, pampered, arrogant, and not that bright, really. But he was the heir and groomed for the role. You could say I'm biased. I'm the first to admit that I favor my own son. But I tried to keep an open mind about Will. He was a boy when I married his dad. His father loved him so much, and I loved his father.
"Will's late mother, however, was a difficult woman under the best of circumstances. Ren's father was sweet-natured, like Ren. He put up with her far too long before divorcing her. I believe to this day she had some kind of personality disorder. She was reckless and subject to wild mood swings. She was often depressed and suicidal." Shaw took a breath. "She committed suicide, you know?"
"No."
"A couple of years before Will died." She lowered her voice. "Will had her tendencies, all of them. But he also had his father's charm and good looks. And he was set to inherit everything. That went a long way toward people overlooking his weak points. After his father died, I took Ren home to the States to raise him, and rather ironically married another Brit. You like who you like, I guess."
"It must be the accent," I said.
"It must be," she said. "I didn't want Ren under his older brother's influence and constantly in his shadow. At home, I didn't make a big deal about his family connections. There was practically no chance he'd inherit the title. It didn't seem right to burden him with it.
"When Ren was in college, though, he insisted on spending a year studying at Oxford to get in touch with his British side. I was terrified of losing him. But you can't rein a grown child in. I let him go, even supported his decision."
She sighed. "I'm still beating myself up over that mistake. That's when he met Zoe. She ruined him. Zoe was mentally ill herself, I'm sure. She hurt my son in dozens of ways, some more obvious than others. After what she did to him with Will, and just in general, Ren has been gun-shy about commitment.
"He's never said, of course. But being an armchair psychologist, I think he's afraid to be fooled again. He's afraid a woman will go psycho on him again like Zoe did. Ren has always liked spontaneous women. Adventurous, strong women." She smiled at me. "Like you. You proved that by marrying Ren on the spot. But those traits can sometimes mask emotional instability."
I wanted to assure her that I was perfectly sane. But even a crazy person would rush to do that, so what was the point? "I think I'm sane enough. But I suppose everyone thinks they are."
"Exactly." She looked like she approved of my answer. "Poor Cory. I think she's perfectly sane too, but too boring for Ren. He thought her stability would be safe and good for him. But it doesn't attract or excite him. He wouldn't be coerced into marrying her. You're different, I think. I'm an excellent judge of character. You could be good for him, Bliss. Be good for him."
I was still reeling from the revelations of my conversation with Shaw when I returned to the reception and ran into Bendi. We fell into conversation. I was pretty sure he knew th
at Shaw had had a talk with me.
"Ren tells me you're an avid gardener," I said.
"A botanist, really," he said. "I'm a professor of botany. I do love a good garden."
"That's lovely," I said. "And you're a foxglove enthusiast, too. Is that your specialty?"
He looked confused. "Foxglove is practically a weed around here. I'm an enthusiast only in the sense I'd like to keep them in their place."
Ren had lied to me. Very smoothly, too.
Chapter 22
While the reception was in full swing, and before they could get away, I cornered the Dukes of Axton and Hardison in the library, where they'd retreated for a bit of quiet. Harris ratted them out to me.
"You look lovely, my dear," Axe said when I found them. "How are you holding up?"
"You looked very brave today," Hardly said. "And stunning. Manly would have been pleased on both counts. The tears you shed at his gravesite—perfection!"
"They would have been perfection if she'd actually been his widow." Axe smiled at me. "But very nice touch, Bliss. It was Manly's timing that was off."
I took a seat in an old brown leather chair, feeling a deep affection for the two old gentlemen, even though they were playing me for a fool. "Don't look so innocent, you two. I've been looking for you, and I have the feeling you've been hiding from me. Manly wrote me a letter. He explained how he conspired with the both of you to force me into this marriage with Ren."
Axe nodded, a supremely smug look on his face. "We know. We agreed he should write the letter."
"It was only fair," Hardly said. "We wanted to read it and edit it for him, but he drew the line there and refused to show it to us." He had a plate of chocolate cake next to him on an end table. He took a bite.
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 22
